


Just over the dawn

by Anuna



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 04:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anuna/pseuds/Anuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He doesn't notice when exactly it happens, but somehow he feels more involved and less lonely.</i> Or – how Steve’s Christmas sucked, but turned out much better than he ever hoped. Having good friends certainly helped. Part of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/465017">Kobayashi Maru</a> universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just over the dawn

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a Christmas treat to everyone over at be_compromised, but a special dedication goes to my friend **crazy4orcas** who kept feeding my plot bunnies. :) A huge HUGE thank you to [Koren M (CyberMathWitch)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CyberMathWitch/gifts) who beta read, fixed my grammar and helped make this better. :) A special thanks to **shadoedseptmbr** and **the_scary_kitty** who helped me with certain historical aspects of the story. 
> 
> The title was borrowed from the song "Going home" by Mary Fahl.

“Steve? I brought you your – Steve?”

Natasha stops at the door to his apartment, holding still his packed suit in her hands. The near darkness isn't like Steve, if he's here, and awake, the light is usually on. He didn't tell her he had any plans to go away today, and besides, she told him she would bring the suit for the party. He didn't say he wouldn't be home. 

Her questions are answered when Steve announces his presence. 

“In here,” he calls, sounding a little odd. “In the living room.”

She knows his space well enough to proceed without turning on the lights, so she does and finds him sitting on the couch. She can see his silhouette and judging by the set of his shoulders and the way he's not moving, she suspects something is wrong. 

No, she thinks, she knows something is wrong. She's also pretty certain she knows what's bothering him, because she is trained to read people after all, and Steve isn't all that hard to read. He isn't trying to hide his sadness, like someone else might, he simply carries it quietly, like he does his shield, his responsibilities and everything else. The world he woke up to must be lonely, uninviting and cold, with unfamiliar and strange outweighing familiar by far. On most days he faces it steadily, he watches movies and reads books and learns history, doing his best not to be daunted by the shapes of the world and what it has become, but Christmas defeats even the bravest.

“Steve?” she says tentatively, rubbing her stomach out of habit. It's firm and round and it's getting heavier, which is why she shifts from one foot to another. She read several times that pregnancy involves considerable physical strain, but that was theory. She waved most of it off, confident in her healthy and strong body, but boy was she wrong. The reality of it all means that she has to _sit down_ and get proper rest when she's tired. 

He looks up at her when she shifts. 

“Hey, you okay?” he asks. He never fails to react when other people need something and part of her (a maternal part?) wants to grab his shoulders and tell him she should think of himself sometimes, the way he thinks of others. 

“Fine,” she smiles, assuring him that she's okay. And she is. She really is. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”

He shrugs. “Felt like it.”

Okay, she thinks, she won't ask, but she does want to do something about this. “I have your suit,” she says. 

He reaches the lamp next to the couch he's sitting on and turns on the light. 

“Thanks,” he says and she can see how edges of his smile turn sad. Natasha lays the suit next to him and Steve looks at the wrapped clothing like it has claws or a different kind of potential to hurt him. “How's Barton?” he asks. 

“Good,” she smiles a bit wistfully, thinking of Clint and the miles separating them. She can handle it, better than the first time he had to be away after she got pregnant. There's no nausea this time around, and he can call her every day, and hopefully he'll be home soon. Maybe even before Christmas. _Home_ , she thinks. Steve's mouth quirks up, but his eyes remain the way they were. 

“He called?” Steve asks, in a way that makes her think he doesn't really _want_ to be alone. She assumes he wants just the opposite, but the company that's available probably isn't the company he wants and needs. 

“No, not yet,” Natasha says. She doesn't need to check how long until Clint contacts her. Two more hours, and it feels like they're ticking away inside of her, slow minutes, long hours, endless days. 

“Any idea when he'll be back?” Steve asks, moving to unpack his suit. It's a beautiful suit, but everything Pepper picks really _is_ beautiful and Natasha smiles a little thinking of how much effort she'd put into organizing this year's party, the charity auction, well, everything down to everyone's clothes. (There's a lovely dark blue dress waiting in her closet, fitted to Natasha's body, just the way it is now. She's had clothes tailored for her before, made to suit a purpose, to mask her and deceive everyone else. This is an elegant dress, a very classy one, but it's made to show _her_ off, almost like it’s been made to show who she is, what she can be. It came with with a shine in Pepper's eyes and nods of approval, and Natasha wishes Clint could see it.)

“I really don't know,” she says, and her hands stray to her stomach, where she can feel her baby move. She smiles, because she can't _not_ smile at that. “Soon, I hope,” she adds and she thinks (hopes) it will be before Christmas, even though she's not exactly big on the holiday. But still. It's different this year, isn't it? She finds herself wanting it, and she's not exactly comfortable with that, but she can't help it. She wants him back. 

 

She also realizes that she didn't have conversations like this before, didn't offer personal information to people other than Clint if it wasn't necessary for whatever mission she was on. 

“Is the baby...?” Steve asks when he notices how she's touching her stomach and Natasha nods. Then he smiles for real and something tugs at her chest, but even if she's not sure what it is, she takes his hand and places it against the right spot on her stomach. Steve's face lightens up. “Oh my God,” he says in complete wonder. Natasha smiles at him and it's okay because he's her teammate and her friend, and he's lonely. Not in the way she is lonely, but worse. She squeezes his fingers briefly and lets go.   
“I'm going up to have some tea. You're welcome to join me,” she says and he grins, and the sadness still lingering in his eyes doesn't feel so heavy any more. 

“I'd like that,” Steve says. 

 

*

The thing is, everything feels just wrong. The streets, decorations, shop windows and presents – just everything. _Everything_ , right down to the Christmas tree Stark had ordered and Pepper had decorated and Steve tried to like it, he really did. But, he couldn't and eventually he ended up taking everything down, all the decorations and then even the lights and he looked at them like the answer was hidden in those little lamps. They blinked innocently at him and Steve felt so incredibly, overwhelmingly sad. Then he wanted to get rid of the tree too (he never really had one, and he didn't know what to do with one one), but he didn't. As much as Tony annoyed him sometimes, Steve didn't want to hurt him. Christmas was _not_ about hurting people. 

That was a week ago. Bruce had seen the desecrated tree, but thankfully hadn't commented on it, he just gave Steve a look. When Steve ignored it, Bruce dropped the entire thing. That was a good thing about Bruce, he didn't pry. 

But it didn't help. He felt worse as the days went, and everyone was starting to give him strange or worried looks.

He gives the suit on the couch a long look before he goes through the door. The box of decorations and little lights is next to the couch, and Steve would stuff the suit in it as well – one more thing about Christmas he didn't know how to use and enjoy. But, he was Captain America, a friend and a teammate and people expected him to go to the party. He carried his shield, he carried on, no matter what, and he would do the same now. 

There would be dancing, he thinks. Then he tries not to think of Peggy, of Howard and his insane enthusiasm, of Bucky and the way they sat at old Mrs Brown's table, hoping she'd have some cake or bread with raisins for them. 

 

Natasha lives in Clint's apartment now. They do mission stuff in her apartment, they keep computers and reports and most of their considerable weapons collection there, but they live in Clint's space. There are books and Natasha’s soft carpet and Clint's stereo set with LPs and compact discs and music. When Steve walks in Natasha is making tea, wearing what could be Clint's old shirt, stretched over her stomach. Steve smiles, he thinks she looks beautiful like that. He'd tell her that she's beautiful more often, but that tends to make her act awkward. He knows she's continually adjusting to this, pregnancy and the idea of being a mother. He thinks he knows at least how part of that feels and he's glad to see that the more time goes, the better she seems to be feeling. He isn't sure about himself. He's read somewhere that you usually feel worse before you start feeling better, which doesn't make a lot of sense. 

He sits on the bar stool at kitchen island and sniffs the tea she serves him. It has sharp scent which tickles his nose. 

“What kind of tea is that?” he asks. A small smile appears on her lips like it usually does when he, or someone else, notices something she particularly enjoys. 

“I call it fake Masala chai,” she says. “Fake, because the original is black tea mixed with spices. This one is green tea,” she makes a face that makes Steve laugh a bit,” and much fewer spices than I'd prefer,” she rubs her stomach and looks down at it. “You wouldn't like that, would you?”

He smiles, but can't stop the feeling of sadness creeping up on him. 

“Steve -” she starts and stops. He sighs. 

“Go ahead. Ask,” he even grins realizing that what he's doing is completely unproductive and not good for him. 

“You didn't seem too happy when I brought the suit,” she says, and he grins a bit more when he looks at her and it's like they're sharing a joke. She is aware that there is a lot more to it, but she doesn't push. Instead she toes the door open and leaves the rest to him. 

“Well,” he shifts and takes a sip of his tea and oh wow. He likes it. “This is very good.”

“That's a poor stalling tactic, Steve,” she settles against a chair on the opposite side, more leaning than sitting up. 

“Do you want to go to the living room? Where you'd be more comfortable? And don't look at me like that, I'll answer your question,” it's really nice that he can't stop grinning and he doesn't have to force himself to do it. He's also feeling sad at the same time, but it's somehow okay around Natasha. Even though Bruce doesn't ask him what's wrong, Steve is acutely aware he notices it. Thor is pretty blunt about it and Tony is even worse when he wants to know something. “I can't dance,” he admits. 

“What? I mean – really?” she asks, honestly surprised and Steve smiles and shrugs and then turns thoughtful. It's not just about dancing. 

 

“Well,” he looks at his tea, then back at her. “I had a date, but then I was late. Seventy years late,” he says and watches her as she takes it in and does the math. “She was supposed to teach me how to dance.”

“Oh Steve,” she says. He bites his lip and wants to tell her he doesn't want to go into an awkward and sad story about it all, he doesn't really want to talk about Peggy, even though he constantly thinks about her. But Natasha seems to read his mind, as she often does. “I think it would suck to have you as a date, then” she says, and her expression seems serious, only it's not and she's looking at him in a way that makes him chuckle. Then, she starts to giggle, which in itself is a rare thing, so he starts to laugh. Then she starts laughing, both of them are laughing, for real. He's laughing even though he's still sad, and it still hurts, but at the same time it's somehow better, and this mixed feeling settles in his chest. 

“Yeah, I'm terrible. Don't ever ask me on a date,” he jokes. 

“Deal,” she says. “But I can do something else, if you want me to.”

He perks up a little. “What's that?”

“I can teach you how to dance,” she says. “Though I warn you, it won't be anything spectacular, for obvious reasons,” she pats her baby bump. 

He looks at her for a moment. Yes, she's pregnant, but if there's something she hates, then it's being treated like she can't do anything on her own any more. He figures he can at least let her try. 

“Okay, why not?” he says. 

 

*

 

They have to rummage through Clint's music collection first, and it's a pretty daunting task. It's country – country – country on top of more country, but Natasha is intent to find something like a slow waltz. Finally she digs out an album and selects a song, and she shows Steve how to follow the rhythm. Then she shows him his steps and watches him as he counts, looking at his feet. 

“Okay,”she says, “you'll have to look at me at the party,” she smiles. 

“At you?” he asks as she arranges his hands around her. The height difference is bit of a problem, especially considering the fact that she can't wear heels any more, but Steve adjusts himself to her. 

“Would you prefer going alone?” she asks and nudges him into motion. He goes, like a good soldier that he is, and he needs only minor corrections.

“Well... no,” he says. “But I told you -”

“If you're late, I'll just assume you're frozen somewhere,” she says and he starts to laugh. Natasha smirks. “We can bring Tony and ask him to thaw you out.”

Steve winces. “Tony? If that happens, maybe it's best you leave me frozen,” he says and makes a comical face and Natasha laughs. 

“No, sir. I am going to teach you how to dance, and I expect at least one dance at that party. Other ladies may grab you then,” she says, leading them through the rhythm and noticing how he works on not counting the steps out loud. A good student, that's what Steve is. “That is, after my pregnant feet need a rest.” 

He smiles. 

“You'd go with me?” he asks. 

“Of course,” she says. “If you don't have a problem with people asking questions about me and -” she looks down at her stomach between them. He gives her a look she can describe only as chivalrous.

“People could think much worse things about me,” he says. “I wish Barton was here, though. For you.”

Natasha knows he means it. She allows herself a soft smile, she allows longing and even sadness and her hand fits more comfortably in Steve's. His shoulders start to relax as they sway together, one, two, three. 

 

*

“Hey Romanoff?” Tony is making pancakes, wearing a pink apron and Santa hat and God, he looks ridiculous. Only, he's Tony and he isn't even bothered, which is both annoying and amusing. Natasha looks up from her newspaper. “What was that last night?” he asks. 

“What was what?” she asks in return as Bruce walks in and goes straight towards the coffee pot. 

“You and Captain Awesome were having a dancing lesson?” Tony continues casually, putting another pancake on the plate. Natasha looks at it rather impatiently. 

“Dancing lessons?” Bruce asks, eyebrows arched. He really isn’t a gossip, but it seems that living with everyone else is ruining all of them, Bruce included. He's becoming more curious. 

“Wait. Steve can't dance? Are you for real?” Darcy asks and Natasha sighs. 

“Well, he probably can now,” Tony says. Natasha is becoming annoyed, being curious is one thing, but she doesn't want them to pry, because this is personal and painful for Steve. 

“Why do you care about it anyway?” she asks Tony who then turns around. His look doesn't match his apron and the hat and it's almost comical.   
“He's walking around like a depressed old dog for days now. I happen to care,” he says. 

“You're sticking your nose into something that's not your business,” Natasha says flatly. 

“That's his way of caring,” Bruce observes, taking a seat next to Darcy. 

“Why, thank you Doctor Banner,” Tony says. “But, seriously, Romanoff?” Tony's tone changes and Natasha knows this is the concerned and serious Tony. 

“How would you feel if you woke up seventy years in the future without anyone you knew?” she sums up her thoughts. Tony folds his arms on his chest. 

“Yikes,” Darcy says. “It must be epically crappy at Christmas. I mean, Christmas is a crappy time of the year anyway -”

“Says the woman who wears antlers on her head throughout the better part of the day,” Tony adds. 

“I can attempt to add some Christmas cheer to my life, can't I?” Darcy argues. 

“No, you're right,” Bruce says, pensive. “I mean, both of you. Steve probably feels awful.”

“I know what he did to the tree,” Tony says. If Natasha's not mistaken, there's a little bit hurt in his voice. 

“In his time people didn't have trees at home,” Bruce says. 

“Right,” Darcy nods. “It was different then, wasn't it?”

“Pretty much,” Bruce pushes his glasses back up his nose. “He probably didn't get presents like we do today. There was less of everything, there was World War One, and Prohibition and the Great Depression and the Second World War afterwards.”

“Fun times,” Darcy says. 

“Especially when they smuggled scotch,” Tony adds. Natasha arches eyebrow at him. “Dad told me about it,” he adds quietly. 

“Steve knew Howard, didn't he?” Bruce says and Tony shifts in a weird way. 

“Yeah, Steve knew Howard,” he says without as much enthusiasm. “Dad had hundreds of stories about him, actually.”

Bruce gives Tony a long look of understanding. 

“So, what do we do?” Darcy asks. 

“What do you mean -?”

“I mean, what do we do?”Darcy turns to Bruce “Are we just going to let him be miserable at Christmas?” 

“Point there,” Bruce says. 

“And Romanoff has already started it, so -”

They all look at Natasha. 

“Come on, Romanoff, you're the superspy here. We could use your help.”

“I can't believe you're asking me this,” Natasha says, but there is a part of her that's actually getting excited about it. 

“It's about helping a friend -”

“- making his spirits bright,” Tony adds sweetly. 

“And I suppose end justifies the means,” Natasha deadpans. 

“Bah, you make it sound so bad,” Tony complains. “Say you're in,” he adds then, flashing a bright smile. 

“Please?” Darcy adds and then Bruce adds his own smile and Natasha sighs in defeat. Which doesn't really feel like defeat. 

“I'm in,” she says. 

 

*

 

“So I hear Rogers has been stealing my girl,” Clint says, grinning into the camera which makes his nose bigger than it is and the wrinkles around his eyes stand out. Natasha rolls her eyes and thinks how tired he looks. Whatever he's doing, it's obviously exhausting, but he always wears a smile when he talks to her. 

“You can hardly call that stealing,” Natasha says, making herself comfortable with pillows behind her back and laptop propped on her knees. Her stomach does get in the way, but Clint can see her on camera and that's what matters. She doesn't have to type. “I'm involved in a good deed, actually,” she says. 

“Well, someone must have mistaken your identity, then. Last time I checked you were a bit naughtier than Santa’s Elf.” 

“If you were here I would smack you,” she says. 

“If I was there I would kiss you,” he retaliates. 

“I would still smack you.”

“No you wouldn't. You like me,” he teases. 

“True, but you still deserve smacking,” she smiles. “We're helping him out.”

“How?” Clint asks. He doesn't ask whom, and who they are, he's caught onto those bits, and Natasha wonders with a grin and an affectionate eyeroll if Tony's been texting him again and keeping him up to date. It’s not above them, and Bruce might have his fingers in regular reports on how she’s doing as well. 

“He can't dance. Well, he couldn't. We're practicing the waltz and a few other basic rhythms,” she says. 

“Just don't overdo yourself.”

“I can't even if I wanted to,” she rubs her stomach. “Your kid wouldn't let me.”

“Ah then she's looking after mommy. I can tell she'll be a good kid.”

“And what if it's a he?”

“It's a girl,” Clint assures. Then he moves to pick something up, and when he's back on the camera he shows Natasha a tiny singlet. It's gently yellow, with a tiny little hawk printed on the front, and it looks soft and wonderful and dear God, what is that feeling in her eyes? She rubs them and he chuckles, his face becoming soft and tender and everything she wants, but he's not here, and their time is almost up. 

“Oh, damn you,” she says. 

“I love you too, beautiful,” he sends her a kiss through the comm, and she pretends to catch it, despite unknown miles between them. 

 

*

“Okay, Captain Fantastic, where are you hiding?” It's Tony, he's already inside Steve's apartment and in typical fashion he didn't bother to knock, call, or announce his presence, he just barged in. Steve walks out of the bathroom, with half of his face still lathered for shaving. “Oh, look. Making yourself pretty? That's good,” Tony says. “Go and finish up, we've got work to do.”

Steve grumbles but finds it's useless to protest, so he trots over to the bathroom and finishes shaving. The he comes out, scrubbed clean.

“Do you ever knock? Or announce yourself in any way?” he asks, annoyed, but if he's honest, he's not annoyed at Tony himself. (Tony just happens to represent everything that's annoying him, and... that's not very fair. Steve is aware of that.) 

He's annoyed at modern day razors and shaving creams, and elevators and just about everything that reminds him where and when he is. Dancing with Natasha was great but he can't expect Natasha to spend all day with him and make him feel not... alone. 

“There's an emergency you should attend to,” Tony says. “Knocking was irrelevant.”

“And you're such a charming guy,” Steve says. 

“I know! I am,” Tony folds his arms and lifts his chin, and if that's not a challenge then Steve is stupid. Which he's not. “I need help,” Tony says, and that's just like him, this switching from near insults to sincerity. 

Steve sighs. Why does he always get to him? Despite everything?

“What kind of help?”

“Would Captain America like to play Santa for little children without parents?” Tony asks and Steve doesn't even have to reply. He gets dressed (ordinary clothes, but do take the shield with you, Tony orders), and they get into an ordinary looking car, which doesn't look like one of Tony's. (Tony loves those flashy, overpriced cars). 

When they arrive at an old Catholic orphanage in the middle of Brooklyn, everything suddenly becomes clear. Any other car Tony could have taken would have stood out too much, and apparently, Tony doesn't plan to stand out today. Steve gets out of the car and looks at the building where he spent several years of his early life, almost eighty years ago. The yard is prettier but essentially still the same, the tall fence is still there, painted, but still looking sturdy and worn. He knows exactly where he stood when he met Bucky, his face sticking between metal bars, grinning at the boy on the other side. 

He lets his eyes linger, he lets the pain hurt, really hurt, before Tony and the Sisters and the children pull him away. Then he spends his day giving gifts and answering questions, and no, not all the Sisters are aware that he used to belong here too. Those who are don't tell. 

Hours and hours later he's tired and somehow content and they let him stroll through the halls and take a look at the records they keep in the archive. (Tony is persuasive, and Captain America is a hero after all so the let him indulge his curiosity and look at everything he wants to see. It takes some time, but he finds the right year, right book, and his name, written in neat, lovely handwriting. His finger touches the page, carefully, because Steve knows it's a fragile thing, just like the notion slowly blooming in his chest. Something shifts and clicks and slides back into place, and he smiles over all those bittersweet memories. They almost feel like home.)

 

*

 

The next day, Darcy convinces him he needs to go skating with her. He goes, but only after she tells him she doesn't like going alone. After an hour of attempting to skate, with lots of falling, and laughing, and hurting his rear (not to mention his pride), Darcy hauls him to a cafe where they're playing Christmas songs. Steve finds them unusual, but decides he likes them, and he is particularly taken with _Fairytale of New York_ and Darcy explains excitedly why she loves it so much. It's a strange song as far as Christmas music goes, but Steve finds he likes the sincerity of it the best, and ends up whistling it all throughout the day.) 

The day after _that_ Bruce convinces him that he needs help picking out gifts, and they have a few good laughs over beer, discussing ten different ways to prank Tony. Lessons with Natasha progress to the point where he stops counting and starts leading the dance. He thinks she's a great teacher and isn't bothered by the fact that her stomach presses into his when they practice. There's one moment when he feels the baby kick against his front and his mouth drops and Natasha says it's probably her foot. Then she tells him that's what Clint keeps saying, that it's a girl. She grins and Steve smiles back.

Tony ropes him into a movie night and makes him watch what he calls classics, which is something he and Bruce constantly argue about, and Steve chuckles while listening to them. 

Sometimes he does the dishes. Sometimes he helps Bruce with the dishes. Sometimes he sees Natasha through his main room window doing slow stretching exercises which look like she's dancing, and sometimes he sees her in front of her laptop, sitting near her window. (Judging by her smile and her expression, he knows exactly who she's talking to.)

Darcy makes him redecorate his tree. She actually _makes_ him, with Jane and Pepper's help. They bring new twinkling lights and snowflakes cut out of paper, and shiny ribbons and Avenger action figures. Darcy places them around on the low branches of the tree, sitting close by and holding hands. With Hawkeye action figure few branches above, _just because_. Natasha breaks into peels of laughter when she comes in and sees it.

(He doesn't notice _when_ exactly it happens, but somehow he feels more involved and less lonely). 

Later, Bruce, Tony, and Darcy drag him into Bruce's kitchen to tell him about their Secret Operation. They all plan to give Clint and Natasha things for the baby for Christmas, and would he like to participate?

Of course he would. 

They start to make a list of things. Each morning, over coffee, but before Natasha arrives, the list gets longer. 

One of the following evenings he goes to bed with a smile because he knows _exactly_ what he's going to give them. 

 

*

The suit fits, but it itches and he fidgets with the bow tie nervously until Natasha shows up in her blue dress and flat shoes, looking beautiful and happy. And when she smiles at him, he smiles back, and it feels a bit like smiling at Bucky. It's not quite the same but now there are shared jokes about baby kicks and learning how to waltz without counting. So when they show up at the party (which is so, _so_ Tony, because it's huge; but at the same time it's so very _Pepper_ , because everything is elegant and classy and just _right_ ), people turn their heads and some whisper about Natasha on his arm but he doesn't really care. He treats Natasha like a lady, like a teammate and a friend and then there's the dancing. One, another, then a third, after which she declares she has to take a break. So he dances with Pepper, and with Jane and Darcy and even Maria. And then with Natasha again, and unbelievably, he's having a good time. 

He still thinks of Bucky and Peggy, but they're less like a phantom pain in his soul and more like quiet companions he could almost reach out to. 

 

*

Her phone buzzes when she exits the huge ballroom and heads towards the bar for refreshment. It's quieter here, with less people making less noise. Natasha finds her phone inside the clutch purse that matches her dress, her shoes, her jewelry. She fishes it out and smiles when she hears his voice in her ear. 

“Hey, gorgeous. How's that party going?”

“Hey handsome,” she says, trying not to let the longing his voice creates overwhelm her. “It's going pretty well.”

“Are you having fun without me?” he asks and she grins. 

“Oh, it's just spectacular,” she answers. “I'm having all the fun,” her tone is cool as she continues to play his game. 

“Been dancing?” he asks casually. 

“Of course. My feet are sore.” Well, that part is true. 

“Is Rogers being a nice, polite gentleman?” his tone is teasing and Natasha rolls her eyes a little and smiles. 

“Actually, he's very handsy. You wouldn't believe it,” she teases back. 

“I might have to do something about that,” he says, and his tone all fake determination and genuine mirth. 

“I will definitely _not_ say no to you being my knight in shiny armor.”

He's quiet for a few moments. “It would be such a shame to put that gorgeous dress to waste,” he says then. “Blue looks lovely on you,” he adds. 

“Clint -”

“And I love the way how it clings to your backside. I bet your front is even better,” he continues. 

“Clint?”

“Turn around, gorgeous,” he says in a low voice. “I want to see it for myself.”

She does, she turns around and looks towards the bar. He's _there_ , leaning casually against it, dressed up and freshly shaven, and in that moment he is the most beautiful thing she can imagine. 

He closes his phone and pushes himself forward, moves with effortless grace that hides his true strength. His face is calm but Natasha knows it's a pretense; his eyes give him away, which he doesn't try to mask. Not with her, not now, and she sees how his eyes take all of her in, how they pause at her stomach. He missed it again, missed seeing her body change and grow and all she wants to do is wrap her arms around him and hold him close.

“Hey beautiful,” he says, and then he's there, his hand is there, against her cheek and in her hair, and then his lips, oh God, his lips. Three weeks, nearly four, she has been without this for so long, and now she wants to be a part of him. She opens her mouth for him, lets him kiss her like she's his, and if anyone looks at them she doesn't care one bit. 

“So he showed up,” there's Tony's voice near them, and the glare that Natasha wants to throw his way when she parts from Clint turns out half hearted. Tony is grinning, Steve and Bruce are smiling; in fact she feels like entire world is smiling. “Nice to have you back, Hawkeye,” Tony says. 

“Nice to be back, Iron Ass. I figured there isn't another way to prevent you from sending all those texts,” he says and everyone laughs. Thor walks up, and his greeting is loud and happy, and soon Clint is given a drink and told about everything he's missed during the three weeks he's been away. Natasha is tucked at his side, only half listening to the conversation going on. Steve winks and raises a glass at her and she smiles back a little sleepily. She observes how happy he looks, like nothing is bothering him at the moment, like everything is as it should be.

It's how she feels as well. 

 

*

 

It certainly takes more than a party to make Steve _really_ tired, but he's running on adrenaline and excitement and laughter after this one. He shrugs off his jacket, loosens the bow tie and takes a seat on his couch. He feels all kinds of things, contentment and even happiness mixed with longing and memories and images from just few moments before. He looks around his room, finally comfortable with the soft lights and the Christmas tree in the corner. He's gotten used to it's presence, but it's not just that. He felt like he'd lost something, but through last couple of days he's found something new. It's different, but good nevertheless.

Steve leans forward, rolling up his sleeves, and smiles a bit wistfully. His sketch pad is resting on the table, with his pencils scattered around it. He thumbs through it, and it seems to catalog the changes in his life; from the first critical and uncomfortable sketches of modern New York City buildings, through the faces he attempted to save from being forgotten, leading to the series of his new friends. Darcy with her antlers, Bruce holding his glasses, Tony looking thoughtful, and Pepper smiling. Natasha, with her hands on her round stomach, and Thor, looking cheerful and standing tall. 

Some drawings are already framed and ready to be given as presents, and he goes through them, feeling a bit silly because he isn't used to drawing like Beatrix Potter, but they're suited for the purpose. Baby rabbits, puppies, kittens, a baby moose, a funny looking little spider with his front legs folded. A little hawk showing off his wings. They're all for the nursery, and Steve hopes Natasha and Clint will like them enough to put one or two on the walls. He made several, so they can choose. Tony said they were great, fantastic in fact, and he looked delighted when Steve showed them to him. Darcy was incredibly excited ( _“Can we name the spider Natasha? Because it definitely looks like her.”_ ) and she found Peter Rabbit books and a baby keepsake book to go along with the drawings and even a big box with a ribbon on top for packing them in. Steve studies it all now, slightly worried if all of this is going to be okay with Natasha and Clint. He isn't used to this kind of gift giving, but he wants to do something to go along with the things everyone else has been preparing.

( _“Really don't want to be presumptuous or anything, but I imagine they're not people who had, you know, usual Christmases,” Darcy said few days ago._

_“Define the usual Christmas,” Tony said._

_“Well, you know -” Darcy started. “Family, cookies, presents.... an uncle who always gets drunk and tells embarrassing stories and ruins the evening. Makes everyone else cry and regret they even came to lunch.”_

_“A father who always gets held up at work,” Tony adds. “Or doesn't show up. Or forgets it's Christmas.”_

_“A father who betas you up,” Bruce added quietly._

_“Christmas sucks,” Darcy concluded._

_“Well. Not always,” Steve said, remembering sneaking out of the orphanage and climbing the fence before any of the Sisters caught him and meeting with Bucky. Running down the street with him, throwing snowballs and sharing the tangerines Bucky got as a present, then sneaking back in before someone noticed he was missing. Which they always did and he always got in trouble. Steve smiled as he remembered. “Not all of it.”_ ) 

He gets up from the couch to take a walk around the room and roll his shoulders. He almost wants to go back to dancing, because it's been great, and he wishes it could have been with Peggy, but decides that it was good as it was. It was really, really good. He stops in front of the window and his eyes dart to Natasha's (well, technically Clint's) window on their own. 

He can see them, sharing a moment that can't be called anything but intimate, and yet Steve is unable to look away. It's beautiful and human and just too powerful. They're smiling at one another, and then she pulls him by the lapels of his jacket into a kiss. She loosens his tie as he leans down to her ear to tell her something. She turns around in his arms, her back to his front, her head on his shoulder. Steve sees how Clint's arms go around her, cover her stomach and hold her close, and how he presses his cheek against her hair. 

Steve smiles and rocks on his feet. He goes back to his couch, swept up by a completely new kind of excitement, and he flicks on the light and grabs his sketch book. 

Two hours later his fingers are black from the graphite but the drawing is perfect. He's asleep on his couch, still in his suit. The lights of his Christmas tree are twinkling happily in the corner. 

 

*

“Sleepyhead.” 

“I'm not sleepy,” Natasha tries to get away from Clint's hands and tickling fingers, but she's not as quick as she used to be. Besides, she enjoys this too much; the feeling of him, his hands along her sides and his cheek against hers as he presses against her from behind. 

“Yes you are,” he says softly as his hands seek and touch, reconnect with her. “But you're entitled,” his voice comes muffled against her shoulder when he strokes the roundness and his hand stays there. She attempts to turn around and kiss him, but she can't. “Wait, wait. Let me,” he says and shifts and the kisses and kisses her, starts to touch her in a different manner now, and she leans into his hands as much as she physically can. 

“God, I missed you,” she says as he pushes the shirt she stole from him over her head. She says it over and over, because now she can. It's simple and if she were someone else, she probably wouldn't spare those words a thought. But they were meant to be a secret, two people who could be everything for anyone else, but weren't meant for each other, until this. Now she's allowed to miss him, even out loud and she wants to tell him so, and when he responds in kind she kisses him blindly and loses herself in the feel of him everywhere around her. 

She lets him undress her all the way and watches him watching her, touching her, pressing his face against her stomach. His eyes take all of her in, the details, the changes before he dips his head down and she reclaims his lips and drags his shirt over his head. 

“I missed you too,” he says again, “so much. So, so much.” Then they make love, and even if they try to take it slow, it turns intense and greedy, and really, really good. Half an hour later they're both spent and relaxed and she feels like things finally click into place, the dancing lessons and everything all of them have been doing for Steve while Clint was away; gifts and decorations and preparations she never truly did for herself before. Clint's arms lock around her and hold her gently and she enjoys the feel of them, steady and strong, heavy around her. Their Christmases were calls on frozen rooftops and sitting in a hospital while he was wounded and fighting for his life, there've been assignments and catching late trains and running away. Before Avengers and New York, Christmas wasn't a moment, it wasn't home, it wasn't about decorations or gifts or singing carols, but ever since she met him, Christmas was about him. It meant remembering to call him, missing him, or being with him. Where and how didn't really matter. 

Outside the snow begins to fall, and she lets Clint wrap them in a blanket and lull them back to sleep. 

 

*

“Come on Captain Awesomepants,” Tony says when Steve opens the door. “What? A nice Catholic boy like you isn't dressed for midnight mass?”

Steve looks at him open mouthed. Tony is dressed, but so is everybody else – Pepper, Darcy, Jane, Thor, Clint, Natasha, Bruce, Betty; all of them wrapped in shawls and coats, and Steve's standing there in his sweatpants, feeling confused. 

“I, um,” he stops, not sure how to explain. He didn't mean to go to the mass. He hadn't been in months now, preferring to go to empty churches and say his prayers quietly, recite them in Latin and remember. He's not sure how to explain to Tony that a mass in English isn't the same thing, that something about it gets lost and ruined, and he probably shouldn't think about holy service like that. 

“Oh, come on, Steve,” Darcy says and he tries to match her smile. He can't let them down, can he?

“Give me a minute.” He gets dressed in short order and they get into cars and they're on their way. He's riding with Natasha and Clint, and while they're talking quietly he listens to music, sitting comfortably in the back of the car. 

They park and walk for five more minutes to the church. It looks old but strong and Steve thinks how he hasn't been here before as they walk in and mix themselves with the crowd. The lights inside aren't too bright and people don't look at them like they usually do. The church is full, and two young men offer their seats to Natasha and Clint and Steve smiles as he watches their reaction and guesses this is not something they're used to. The rest of the group stands, Steve right behind the bench Clint and Natasha are sitting on, with Bruce and Betty next to him. Tony stands somewhere near with Pepper, and Darcy and Jane are explaining things to Thor. 

There's a choir of children first. Steve smiles, even though most of the songs they sing aren't familiar. They're still lovely, and by the end of the little concert, he mouths the words of _Silent Night_ , and claps with everyone else when they're done. 

Everyone quiets and a bell rings, the priest appears, accompanied with two boys and two girls dressed in white and Steve sighs. That too has changed, but that change at least doesn't seem bad. He smiles and thinks of what Peggy would say.

It's not until the priest starts to speak, _In nomine Patri et Filii et Spiritu Sancti_ when his heart starts to beat faster and he looks around. Tony smiles at his apparent joy and inclines his head towards Bruce, who just nods. Steve grins at both of them, and for a moment he sees bits of Howard in Tony, only to realize that Tony is someone separate, someone different, and even if he's not always nice, he's still very good. 

 

*

They burst into Tony's suite in a pile of cold, snowflakes and laughter. Tony's tree is the biggest and all the presents are here, and when Steve says they should wait until the morning, Tony helpfully supplies that technically it is Christmas morning. Only, it's very very early. 

Gifts are exchanged and there are hugs and thank-you's. Clint and Natasha get the most and they don't know what to do with all of that attention, but when they start unwrapping it all, their reactions turn towards thankful and happy, often openly touched. Bruce and Betty got them a big, soft rocking chair for the nursery that they can both sit in, there are wonderful, adorable baby clothes from Jane and Darcy, and roomy, practical and classy looking bag to carry all the necessary supplies in from Pepper. There are even toys from Asgard ( _“With compliments from Allfather”_ , Thor says). Tony's gift comes in an envelope, and Clint looks at it in confusion, but when he opens it his mouth drops open. 

“It's -,” he starts, giving the papers to Natasha. Steve watches as her face changes. It's rare to see such open, unguarded surprise on her. She looks up at Tony, but it seems she is at loss for words too. 

“What is it?” Thor asks. It's Clint who finds his voice. 

“He... he saved a spot for our kid in five private schools in New York -”

“The best private schools,” Tony says, but it's without usual boasting. His voice is quiet instead. “And whichever you guys happen to choose, I'll have it secured and -,” he looks uncharacteristically uncomfortable. Clint steps forward and shakes his hand and claps him on the shoulder, and Natasha gives him a hug. It takes a moment, but Tony gently hugs her back. 

Steve's present is the last one for them to open. Natasha lifts the lid on the box, smiles gently at the books as she pulls them out one by one and hands them to Clint. He chukles, trying to keep his face calm, but his eyes grow more tender with each following item. Natasha is delighted with the drawings of baby animals and Clint decides they will hang them all. Especially the little spider. ( _”We’re totally calling her Natasha_.” _“Very original, Clint.”_ )

The final drawing is slightly bigger, and leaves both of them speechless when they see it. They both look, and possibly, it’s a rare occasion that they get to see themselves through someobne else’s eyes. Steve tries to apologize because it was an intimate moment after all, but Clint thanks him in a quiet and sincere way and Natasha tells him it's perfect and hugs him, holding him for a long, long time.


End file.
